Hand in Mine
by piperholmes
Summary: Ross apologizes for not being Demelza's first dance at the Warleggan ball. Written for a prompt on Tumblr.


**Hand in Mine**

 **By: piperholmes**

 **A/N: written from a prompt from thenamparacliff onTumblr "Write something about Ross apologizing about not being Demelza's first dance at the Warleggan ball! Post-card game fuss and all." Hopefully this fits the bill well enough ^_^  
**

 **Unbeta'd**

A somber mood hung over Nampara.

The bright sunshine and warm breeze coming off the sea had seemed a cruel joke. Demelza was sure that a day for sadness should be cloudy and gray, but it seemed nature disagreed and the flowers continued to bloom even as she and Ross had made their way back from Jim's grave in silence.

A weariness settled into her bones as she glanced down at her sleeping daughter in her arms. The baby had sensed, as babies do, that something wasn't right and had clung to her mother all day, fussing to be held and coddled. Ross had endured the crying as long as his sore head could before throwing Demelza a desperate look. She'd almost refused his silent plea, a fit punishment for his days of being near soaked through with drink, but that wasn't her way and her wordless nod had sent him flying from the house, out anywhere, to nurse his pain in silence.

And because she had spent the entirety of the previous night at the Warleggan's ball, having left Julia in Prudie's care, guilt prickled at her heart, believing that was also why her child demanded so much attention, and she'd abandoned her chores to spend the rest of the day focused on her daughter.

It was an exhausted Demelza that easily tucked her baby into the cot, placing one more kiss to the pudgy round cheek before dragging herself once more to her feet and quietly making her way back downstairs. With Jinny gone to mourn her Jim and Prudie, knowing there would be extra work to be done, having disappeared up to bed, it was left to Demelza to finish want needed to be done. Her eyes immediately went to the beautiful ball gown that hung in the kitchen, waiting to be sponged. It had been such a lovely gesture from Ross, but the loveliness was lost, drowned in the sorrow and liquor that had marred her first ball. Pointedly ignoring the dress, Demelza grabbed her apron and a rag to tie back her curls and set to kneading the dough that would spend the night rising in preparation for baking tomorrow.

She worked in the calm of the evening; the only sounds the occasional crackling of the wood from the fire and her soft humming, when she heard the door creak open. She slowed her hands for a moment but didn't look up, a heavy tension filling the room. Ross made no movement, lingering by the door, perhaps waiting for something, but she was too tire and a little too angry to care to try and figure out what. The dough soon bore the brunt of her frustration, as she folded and pressed it again and again with more force than before.

Finally he moved into the room, his body falling heavy onto the bench at the table, the smell of hay heavy in the air, the only clue to where he'd spent the day. Despite her dissatisfaction with him she did hope he had found some relief, some sleep in the barn. She saw her own weariness reflect back in the hunch of his shoulders as he sat, just sat, watching her work.

Her pride held hold of her tongue, refusing to allow her the impulse to ask after him, or to offer him some of the cold meat left from her evening meal with Julia.

"I've disappointed you."

His deep voice rumbled the words, surprising her, forcing her head up to look at him.

His tired eyes met hers, and an odd sensation blossomed in her chest, the feeling of love and unhappiness clashing.

When she said nothing he continued, "I had wanted to make you happy, but I got caught up in my own feelings about Jim and I failed to keep my promise to you, and I'm sorry for that."

It was an unusual thing to be in love Demelza decided. Love had brought her up and brought her low. Love had given her this man, with all his flaws and moods, but it had cost her heart in return. It was easier to be angry, to hold to those feelings, harder to forgive, but she longed to forgive him, so she did.

"'Tis alright," she answered kindly. "'Twas a hard night for everyone."

She heard the bench scrape against the floor as Ross stood, moving towards her, his hands reaching for hers.

"No Ross, they're covered in flour," she warned, even as he ignored her protests, his long fingers closing around hers, turning her to face him.

"I'm not a man often moved by feelings of regret," he confessed honestly, though Demelza was already well aware of this. "But I admit I regret my actions towards you. You've too often in your life bore the brunt of a man's anger while he drank himself into a stupor."

"No," she protested, feeling sick at the idea of Ross comparing himself to her father. "No Ross—"

"Shh," he quieted her gently, with the same tenderness and love she had heard him calm their daughter. "I promised you the first dance, then abandoned you to the clumsy hands of Hugh Bodregun."

As he spoke he placed her left hand to his shoulder, his right moving to her waist then sliding around to her back, the light pressure forcing her forward slightly. His other hand wrapped around hers, holding her with a familiarity that brought comfort.

"Ross?" she spoke, not sure what he was doing.

"It's called the Walzer," he answered. "I learned it from a man from Tyrol while I was in America. It's quite popular in the Austrian Court. I doubt it will ever find a place here. I can't see the high and mighty, closed-minded patronesses of Almack's ever allowing such a dance."

The bitterness was returning to his voice. "I don't know the steps," she said quickly, wanting to save him from himself.

"Just follow my lead," he commanded, carefully pulling her towards him, then gliding them to the side.

Her steps were clumsy at first, her own insecurities battling, before she relaxed under his touch, and they soon fell into an easy pattern, moving around the tiny space together. Demelza flushed with delight at his words of praise, their own intimate dance as they found their way. She had loved learning the steps to the country dances, the intricate weaving and moving through the group, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of her husband holding her close, his attention fully on her as they danced alone to the sound of their shuffling feet.

"It should have been me," he whispered, his embrace tightening, drinking in the pleasure shining in her face. "I should have been the one to stand up with you. I should have been the one to dote on you. I should have been the one make you smile as you're smiling now. I should have been the one to save you. I should have saved…I should have—"

His voice broke, and Demelza realized they'd stopped moving as Ross gripped desperately to her.

"Oh Ross," she breathed, releasing his hand to bring her arm fully around him as he buried his face in her neck, her fingers sliding through his wild curls, holding him, cradling him, loving him, her heart breaking as the days of his torment poured out of him.

And so they stood, pressed into each other, having learned to dance together.

 **Thanks for reading!**


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